


knife going in

by bookbug99



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookbug99/pseuds/bookbug99
Summary: Here is Anne Bonny:A survivor. A woman smart enough to steal an entire navy. A woman who will burn down the world for the people she loves. A woman who loved another woman that betrayed her. A woman who knows how to fucking fight.Anne Bonny figures out how to survive, and along the way discovers who she truly is.





	knife going in

Anne don’t like to think about her life before. It’s like her life was split into two parts: before the pirates and after the pirates.

Before the pirates was a disaster of a life. It was a shitty life: trying to survive, being tossed around like a doll and treated like nothing more than a piece of dirt. Girls aren’t supposed to survive but she did somehow.

If anybody asks where she’s from, Anne always says the seas. Because she might have been born in a dirt-poor neighborhood in London, but that ain’t where she became who she is. Anne didn’t become herself until she was in the ocean, away from everything and anybody she’d ever known.

Her life after is better, ‘cause then life became about more than just surviving.

***

Her husband was a piece of shit. Anne knew he was a piece of shit the second she saw him, all swagger and smelling like rancid flesh, touching her like he owned her. Her parents could barely keep their kids alive, and along came a savior for the oldest daughter.

James -- Anne never thinks of him as “James;” she calls him husband because that way she can pretend to forget -- is the worst person she has ever known. Anne remembers their wedding, which wasn’t really a wedding because he was drunk on whiskey the entire time and she closed her eyes during the kiss, and she remembers the way he looked at her: like she was something to be possessed.

Anne had always known this was gonna happen. That’s what girls are for. You get married to the first halfway decent man who doesn’t think you’re a whore, fuck, have as many babies as possible then die before you hit thirty.

It didn’t make it any better. It didn’t make it any better to hear the shit he said about her, about how she was useless and a terrible fuck and acted like a real bitch. It didn’t make it any better when he slapped her in public or slammed her against a wall. Anne has forgotten the worst memories, because she doesn’t know how else she would have survived. Some things are too painful to remember.

He was a piece of shit. End of story.

Anne was only thirteen, and already knew that this was gonna be the rest of her life.

 ***

And then Jack saved her.

No, that’s wrong. He saved her, and she saved him, and then they kept each other alive.

Anne remembers that moment perfectly. They were in a tavern and her husband was drunk. He was drunk every moment of every fucking day. Anne remembers sitting and listening to her husband laugh with his friends.

She remembers the way he looked at her and said, “What the hell is wrong with you?” and stood up, with his overfilled glass in one hand.

Anne didn’t bother to protest. She knew what happened if you protested. Things just got worse. So she said nothing, and then her husband said, “You’re a dirty rotten bitch, can’t even speak for yourself can ya”--

He hit her across the face, and she tried (and failed) not to react. He hit her again, and she winced; he hit her harder the third time, enough that blood started to spill on her nose. Anne didn’t look to see if anybody was reacting, ‘cause nobody ever cared enough to stop the bleeding.

They just figured it was a husband’s right to toss his wife around any way he wanted. She couldn’t say no to nothing.

Her husband slammed his bottle across her nose, and that time the pain was so intense Anne screamed cause she could feel every single bone in her nose breaking to pieces. Then she heard the sound of footsteps.

Anne remembers the first time she saw Jack Rackham, and remembers thinking he looks afraid. He didn’t look like someone who got into fights. He was brawny and wearing a coat with too many tassels. It ain’t even look like he had a weapon. But his face was furious.

Her husband kept talking and Anne stopped listening. Jack looked at her, and she nodded. He took out a knife and it was done in an instant: the sound of squelching blood, a scream, a choked cough.

Anne stared at the head that used to be her husband and then back up at the man in front of her. She looked away.

“My name is Jack Rackham,” the man said, sitting in the unoccupied bar stool next to her. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, darling.”

***

The problem is, women ain’t allowed to be pirates. Nobody says they aren’t, but it’s known.

Jack and Anne spend a month trying to find a new ship to sail on. Anne spends the first few months shivering cause she doesn’t know how to live anymore. She doesn’t know who to be. Before all that mattered was surviving. If she can survive now, who does she become, if she ain't a wife anymore?

“Honestly, the lack of self-respect and decorum,” Jack pronounces after the third time they’re turned away from a ship. “You’d think some of these arseholes would be able to look outside their own asses and realize they need assets, not more muscular giants.”

Captain Holland had taken one look at Anne, ignored every word Jack had said about her fighting prowess, and said “Get the fuck off my ship.”

Anne says, “You know they ain’t gonna want a woman anyway.” Pirates are men and they have urges. Her husband had urges. They want whores, not fighters.

“They’re going to want you, Anne,” Jack says. They keep walking along the street, the scent of opium following as they pass through another coastal city. “They’re going to realize you’re the best fighter they’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe,” Anne says.

“Come on, we need a little confidence here,” Jack says. “Better believe in the goodness of our own hearts, darling.” Anne laughs at that, because the idea of her being good is beyond understanding.

He grins at her, and Anne feels herself smiling back.

She doesn’t understand why Jack has so much faith in her. That he believes in her more than anyone ever has. Anne is afraid that he’s gonna figure out she ain’t worth nothing, anyway.

***

He cuts her hair, manages to find new clothes, and says: “This time those fuckers will beg to see you on their ship.” Anne feels strange with a shorn head, and uncomfortable wearing clothes that swallow her body.

The best part of this entire fucking makeover is the hat that Jack found. It’s wide and brown with a brim large enough to shield her eyes. Anne feels stronger when she’s wearing it. Nobody can look at her if she doesn’t let them. The hat makes her feel invincible.

“What name do you want them to call you?” Jack says. “Obviously Anne won’t hide your dashing identity well enough. I’m thinking Ezekiel, or Jebediah, or perhaps Wilson Calico the Second…”

Anne laughs. “No man named Jebediah would make it onto a pirate ship alive. I was thinking James.” She does not say that her husband’s name was also James. Jack looks at her, ‘cause he knows.

“Anne,” he says in a softer voice. “Are you--are you sure?”

“Yes,” Anne says. Her husband is dead in a tavern half a world away, and she is alive. She’s a better man than that piece of shit ever was anyway.

The ship is called the Ranger, said to be one of the most dangerous ships in all the Caribbean. Rumor has it they slaughter the captains of every ship they take. Rumor has it that Captain Vane raises the heads of his enemies on spikes.

“This way,” a scraggly man says to Jack and Anne. Anne watches the men. She watches to see if these fuckers are gonna notice. If any of them know that she ain’t a man but has bigger balls than all them combined.

Charles Vane’s cabin smells of opium and spices. He is sitting at a desk when they walk inside, writing furiously. Vane has long, twisted hair that he must spend hours combing and wears necklaces made of puka shells, same ones you find on any beach in the Bahama.

“Captain,” the man says.

“Get out,” Charles Vane says, and the man runs away.

That leaves Jack and Anne and the fiercest pirate in the seas, alone.

“I’m not interested in wasting my time,” Vane says, turning his back to them. “What the fuck do you want, and make it short.”

“We are interested in becoming employed on your delightful crew,” Jack says. “We have heard of your prowess and believe that we will be strong assets to this crew. My partner here is the best fighter I have ever known.”

Charles Vane does not respond. Anne looks at Jack, who gives her a reassuring look.

“Who the fuck are you?” Vane finally says. “Answer my question.”

“My name is Jack Rackham,” Jack says, “and it is a pleasure to finally meet you. This is my darling associate, James Bonny.” The sound of her husband’s name makes Anne want to choke. She wants to break something. She keeps her breathing steady and does not think of him. Instead, she thinks of the goal.

“Hmmm,” says Charles Vane.

“Is this some kinda fucking test,” Anne finally snarls out. Jack gives her a warning look but Charles Vane is looking at her with watchful eyes.

“I see the other one talks,” he says.

“Listen,” Anne says. “I ain’t come here to play your mind games. I’m a fighter, and I know how to fight, and you’d rather have me than stacks of dead bodies along the galley. If you don’t want us, we’ll find someone better anyway.”

“What makes you think that?” Charles Vane says.

Anne takes out her knife. “Cause I ain’t lying.”

Jack looks worried; Charles Vane looks...impressed? She sees a small smile beginning to cross his face. Maybe this is why he’s the most dangerous man in the Caribbean: danger keeps him alive.

“Impressive,” the deadliest captain in the Bahama Islands says. “I’d prefer not to get into a swordfight today. However, I do believe you two have earned yourself a probationary capability aboard my crew. I’ll be watching. If either of you fuck up or attempt to hurt my men, I’ll throw you into the sea. That is a promise. But if you’re as strong of a fighter as you claim, you two could become a strong asset to the Ranger.”

Jack looks at Anne with an expression of sheer excitement and sheer terror. Anne grins back.

That night they’re given a cabin belowdecks. Anne spends the entire evening listening to the waves of the sea as it shakes her body. She thinks about how she ended up here, from London to a tavern to the middle of the goddamn ocean.

She feels alive for the first time in a long time.

***

Fighting is easy. Fighting is instinct and rage and rhythm. Anne’s never been afraid of fucking blood anyway.

She proves herself easily, manages to take down at least a dozen men on their first prize with the Ranger. She protects Jack, ‘cause he might be brilliant but his fighting skills are only halfway decent, and makes certain he don’t get shredded to pieces.

Anne stands on the lower decks, her hands coated in blood and the skin of dead men, and grins. This is a victory. This is a fight song. This is what she was meant to be, who she was meant to be.

Maybe people think she’s crazy, but fighting is her only talent and all Anne loves.

Charles Vane keeps them on the crew through force of sheer will.

***  
And then their secret is revealed. It’s an accident, really.

The Ranger is fighting against a ship coming from Grenada, a man of war carrying enough gunpowder to power an entire empire. Which empire, the British, the Spanish, it don’t fucking matter ‘cause Charles Vane needs the gunpowder to finance the pirate rebellion on Nassau.

Anne hacks and slashes and slices, managing to take down half the opposing crew before they can touch her. She even manages to slice off a man’s head, watching as it tumbles to the ground.

She keeps running, keeps ducking gunshots and breathing in the scents of smoke and fire from above. It’s not enough. Here’s the trouble: eventually your luck’s gonna run out. Anne’s luck runs out when she sees a burly, tattooed man standing before her carrying a knife in each hand.

She raises her own knife, and they switch to close combat, fighting close enough that Anne could pull out his left eye with a sword. They hack and slash and hack and slash, and Anne manages to avoid every hit and get a few bruises into the man’s arms and cheeks.

Then the man grins with a mouth of rotted teeth and manages to hit her while Anne is distracted, plunging a knife into her stomach. He runs away as Anne falls to the ground, the scent of blood in her eyes. She wants to scream. She can’t.

She manages to find Jack, weary and wounded, and wordlessly points at her wound. “Shit,” Jack says. “If anyone sees”--

“Fucking go,” she yells.

Jack grabs her hand and they run away from the battleground. There’s a group of men in the medical bay. Anne feels the wound pulsing in her stomach like a warning. She clutches at her clothes, knowing what’s going to happen.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jack whispers.

Anne stares at him. No the fuck it isn’t. The doctor, who is a new replacement since the last one got scalped, looks at Jack and Anne. “What do ya want?” he snarls.

“Medical attention, please,” Jack says, his voice high-pitched and sarcastic like it always is when he’s angry, “so that he doesn’t fucking die.”

“Jack,” Anne says. She squeezes his hand. Jack looks at her with a terrified expression. He can’t lose her, Anne knows, and she can’t lose him, because they’re stitched together.  
They manage to get her onto a stretcher, surrounded by the dead and the dying. Men are everywhere, talking about the battle. Jack holds her hand while the doctor studies her wound.

Anne knows it’s gonna happen, and it does: he opens her shirt and lifts it to reveal a wound and a distinctly female body part.. She doesn’t give a shit about her breasts, but today it matters. Jack looks more afraid than she’s ever seen him before, even more afraid than the day he killed her husband.

The doctor looks at them and then yells, “Bonny’s a fucking woman.”

The medical bay goes silent, then uproarious, and Anne closes her eyes. She listens to the sound of yelling and Jack screaming and swords being pulled, someone saying that the fucking woman should be thrown overboard and --

If this is how she dies, it’s a hell of a way to go out. Anne ain’t ashamed of lying. Being a pirate’s the best thing she ever done.

“Take her to the captain,” someone yells, “tell ‘em she’s a fucking woman, I bet she’s not even worth a fuck”--

Anne opens her eyes, and Jack looks at her. There are tears in his eyes. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay.”

The two of them end up in Charles Vane’s office, again, this time under very different circumstances.

“Hmm,” says Charles, “usually the punishment for lying is certain death. No men on this crew can lie to me and survive, otherwise we’re inviting a mutiny. But you two are a special case, a fucking exception.”

“What?” says Jack. Anne says nothing.

“She’s the best fighter on this damn crew,” Charles says. “Anyone can see that, considering the rest of the men are all lazy arseholes or live for dramatic antics.”

“I certainly hope I fall under the dramatic antics category,” Jack says. (Anne stifles a laugh.)

“If I get rid of you, James, whatever the fuck your name is,” Charles says, blowing in another puff of smoke, “half this crew will be dead tomorrow. Does this mean I trust you? No. Does this mean that we rely on your goddamn skills? Yes. Now I need complete and total honesty. There’s a reason we make alliances here, a reason that our society doesn’t fall apart. Tell me who the fuck you are and you can stay.”

“Anne,” Anne says, the name feeling unfamiliar in her mouth after years of disuse. “Anne Bonny.”

“Congratulations,” Charles says, “you managed to not die. If either of you fuck up again, you may recall my first promise”--

“You’ll throw us overboard,” Jack says, “which seems less and less likely now that you’ve proclaimed Anne to be the best man on this entire crew. I’d start making more serious threats.”

Anne glares at him -- now is not the time to be shanked -- but Charles Vane just smiles. “You two are something indeed.”

But they stay aboard the Ranger. They keep fighting.

It isn’t until years later that Anne realizes why Charles let them stay: so they’d be indebted to him.

***

Once they’re on Nassau, things change. There’s less fighting. Instead, Charles is having secret meetings with pirate captains and gazing at Eleanor Guthrie, who he is definitely in love with and who doesn’t give a shit about him.

Anne spends her days in the brothel, because she has nowhere else to be. Besides, there’s alcohol and nobody cares if you talk anyway. Jack and Anne fuck in their tent at night; she hears the way Charles talks about the captains all arguing over who gets some treasure; she sits in the brothel and listens.

You can learn a lot when you stay quiet.

That’s where she meets Max. Max -- who doesn’t have a fucking last name, she’s just Max -- is the most elegant person on an island full of uncivilized pirates. She wears dresses designed to show off her curves and speaks in the kind of accent that’s impossible to place and runs the entire brothel.

She whispers into women’s ears and gestures to men to join her and she’s always smiling. Anne thinks those smiles aren’t real, like everything else about Max. Max is just playing pretend, mistress, lover, friend: whatever or whoever her clients want her to be.

And yes, she’s fucking gorgeous. Anne finds herself staring at Max more days than not, watching the way the hems of her dresses are stained with mud and the way that she laughs like sparkles.

She doesn’t tell anyone how she feels about Max.

There’s plenty of things to hide from pirates.

***

“Anne,” Jack says, “we should start our own ship.” They’re walking down the main street in Nassau, it’s a beautiful spring evening, and Anne saw Max three hours ago: laughing with her latest customer, an areshole with prying fingers. Max was wearing a yellow dress.

“What the fuck?” she says. “You want to defect?” The Ranger is not a perfect ship, but it has been theirs for many years. Charles Vane is both their enemy and their friend and their mentor.

“I was thinking,” Jack says, “we need to start thinking about our future. You and me.”

Anne thinks about the future she’d grown up believing: that she’d be a fucking housewife and die after birthing screaming babies. That’s not her future. What is Jack’s future, then?

“This island is in so much upheaval,” Jack says, “especially now with the idea of the Urca gold. Charles is lovely, yes, but we need to protect ourselves. Getting our own ship would get us power, would get us a chance at a future away from Nassau.”

Anne says nothing.

***

The next time she sees Max, it’s when a group of men are dragging her body down the beach. Anne recognizes those assholes, has fought alongside them for half a decade: Gillian, Franklin, Montmorency.

They are carrying Max, who looks terrified, in their arms. Anne stares for a second and then runs to follow them, sand kicking behind her boots.  
The men end up in a tent mid-way down the beach, unzip the front, and drop Max inside. Anne doesn’t see much, but she hears the sound of Max screaming and the laughter of the men as they climb inside.

Anne hears the sounds of screaming, and cannot bear it: she remembers her younger self, who knew that no one would ever say a word. She couldn’t say no to nothing.

She turns and runs.

***

Later, Anne goes back to the tent. Two more members of the Ranger crew are standing guard outside. Anne knows they’ll recognize her, so she snarls: “I need to talk to her.”

“Charles says nobody allowed in there,” says Williamson. “She’s our property now, we get to pick who plays with her, and besides, a tired girl’s a terrible fuck.”

“This is Charles idea,” Anne says, “assaulting a whore?”

“He’s fighting wit Eleanor,” says Jones, “and besides it’s not like anything better goes down at the brothel.” Anne resists the urge to punch both of them. She resists the urge to punch Charles Vane.

“I am a member of this crew,” she snarls again, and pushes them both aside to unzip the tent. When she climbs inside, Max instinctively backs up against a corner, her face a pale white. She covers her head with her arms.

“I ain’t here to hurt you,” Anne says.

Max does not seem convinced. “Leave me alone,” she says in that lilting French accent. “I have already suffered enough at the hands of your men.”

“I am sorry,” Anne says. She hands Max a wet cloth. “To clean yourself. These fuckers don’t know the first thing about hygiene.”

Max looks at the cloth for a moment, and then back at Anne, and then places it against her cheek.

“Do you need anything?” Anne says.

“The remedies,” Max says, “to ensure that I do not become pregnant.” Anne nods. She can speak to the women in the brothel; they’re all half-afraid of her anyway.

“Anything else?”

“That is all,” Max says. She still seems afraid, her entire body tense. Anne tries to give her a hopeful look, but she’s shit at comforting people. Jack always jokes about it. It’s a coping mechanism, he says.

Anne nods and steps out of the tent. She glares at the guards on her way out.

***

When Anne kills every single member of her crew, she does not feel an ounce of shame.

Instead, she thinks about Max, lost and alone, as she drives knifes into the pirates’ chests.

***

“Thank you, madam,” Max says with a winning smile. She turns to the woman beside her and says, “Idelle, make certain that Admiral Collins is well-attended to.” Idelle, who looks young and scared, scurries away.

Anne returns to staring down at her mug of ale. The brothel is busy these days, ever since Jack managed to con his way into ownership and Max managed to con her way into becoming a madam. It’s been four months since the bodies of the Ranger’s men were found on the beach, and now Jack and Anne don’t have a ship to sail while their captain rules the island.

Anne spends most of her time in the brothel. She does not tell anyone it is because of Max. She does not tell Jack. There are many things that she does not tell Jack, now. That is new.

Max comes over to her table. “Is there something that you require?”

“No,” Anne says.

“So you are simply sitting in this beautiful house without a care in the world?” Max says.

“I like to listen,” Anne says. It is true: she learns much of the island by sitting here, the gossip and the rumors and the stories about ancient gold.  
Max looks at her and smiles. “A girl like you must have a paramour,” she says suggestively.

“No,” Anne says. She does not need a paramour.

“You are not much of a talker,” Max says. “Pity. What a shame. If you ever want”-- here, she leans over, providing Anne an excellent glance at the view between her breasts -- “some fun, there is a place for you to go.”

Anne hides her face in her hat so that Max will not see her true reaction (which is one of pride, and fear, and arousal).

“Ahh,” Max says, seeming to realize that her trick has worked. “I must leave. I hope you enjoy this establishment, Anne.” The way she says Anne’s name in her accent makes Anne want to scream.

She watches Max walk away, and does not think of what this means.

***

“What is happening between you and Max?” Jack says one evening when they are alone. Anne does not answer his question, and focuses on patching up a hole in her hat.

“Nothing,” she says.

“Anne, you cannot lie to me, darling. We have known each other for far too long. I can tell that something strange is happening between you two. Is she trying to blackmail you into giving up a fight for the Urca gold?”

“Why would Max do that?”

“Power, money, prestige,” Jack says, counting them off on his fingers. “The same reasons anyone wishes to steal gold, really.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about the gold,” Anne says, and that’s a lie, but for some reason she wants to protect Max.

“You have been acting so strange lately,” Jack says. He kisses the top of her forehead. “What has changed?”

Anne does not know. But she knows this: obligation is a heavy price to pay. No matter how much she loves Jack.

***

The problem, Anne is beginning to realize, is that she don’t know who the fuck she is.

She used to know. She was a wife to a piece of shit. Then she was Jack’s savior, or he was hers, or they saved each other. Later, she was a pirate.

Anne ain’t really a pirate anymore. Now she’s met a girl who makes her wild. But she loves Jack, too, or is it really love or just obligation anymore? Did she ever love him? Does she love Max, or is it a passing flight of fancy between the two of them?

Who the fuck is she? Why does she have to decide, why does she have to piece together her identity from a series of scraps?

Maybe all Anne has ever been is a killer, the best pirate on the Ranger.

Anne stares at the mirror and examines herself, every flaw of her body, and realizes she ain’t any closer to the answer.

***

“Max,” Anne says, entering the bedroom. Max’s room is bright and airy and always smells like the ocean, salt and brine and piss mixed together.

Max stands up. Today her dress is a brilliant, vibrant orange. “Yes, ma'cheri?” French on her tongue sounds like a melody.

Anne does not say another word. She doesn’t have the fucking words. Instead, she kisses Max.

There is a moment of confusion, and then joy: they kiss each other until the stars burn out, until their mouths are aching, until Max runs her hands down Anne’s dress.

It is not until the kiss is over that Anne thinks to herself, what the fuck just happened?

And then she looks up and sees Max grinning at her and understands.

***

“Anne,” Jack says as he follows her out of the bedroom. It was a disaster, last night, Max and Jack and Anne, and now he has questions that Anne cannot answer. “Please talk to me. You are behaving so”--

“So what?” Anne says.

“Erratically,” Jack says. “You cannot possibly love that woman, that whore”--

“If you fucking call her a whore again,” Anne says, reaching for the knife inside her trousers.

“Anne.” Jack raises his hands. “I know you, and you’re acting like an alcoholic nymph --”

“You don’t fucking know me,” Anne yells back, and Jack looks like she’s just scalped him. “You don’t know fucking anything about me.”

Here is the truth: it has always been Jack and Anne. And now there is someone else.

“Anne, I love you,” Jack says, and his voice is devastation. “You know that. I trust you more than anyone else on this godforsaken island. Why do you not trust me?”

She does trust him. “It isn’t that,” Anne says. “It’s the fact that -- do you love me because you really do, or because it’s obligation? Because I love you, too, but it’s hard to be the better half of someone else and not get lost in who we could be.”

“So who you could be is you off fucking a whore?” Jack says.

“Her name is Max.” Anne sighs and says, “You want to leave this island. I wanna stay behind. You don’t like Max, and I think she’s smarter than both a us combined. Maybe we need time apart.”

“We’ve never fucking had time apart,” Jack says.

“Exactly.”

“Anne, are these the choices you really want to be making?”

“Fine, go off and kill yourself with Charles Vane,” Anne yells back. Jack buries his head in his hands. In the distance, they hear the sounds of a morning on the island: birds chirping, ships coming in from sea, people laughing.

“Maybe I will then,” Jack says, “and as always, it’s an honor how much you value our friendship.”

“Fuck you, Jack,” Anne yells back.

Jack turns around and walks away.

Anne watches him leave, and her entire body collapses into despair as she watches him go.

***

Who the hell is she anyway?

It’s always been Jack-and-Anne, and now he’s gone and Anne is missing half of herself. She ain’t have any idea who she is anymore, now that the best parts of her are gone.

She starts fighting because she can, hurting people because she can, because she needs some kind of fucking release, and that ends with two bodies on the floor and a knife in Max’s terrified hand.

They clean up the bodies, Idelle scurries away, and Anne holds onto Max like a drowning man that cannot breathe.

She ain’t know how to fix this, or even if she wants to.

***

“You need to get out,” Max explains to Anne one morning while they’re lying in bed. “Go somewhere beyond this cramped room.”

“There’s a cove on the beach,” Anne says. She does not say: where I murdered eight men. That is, there’s hardly anywhere on this island where she hasn’t killed someone.

So they go to the beach. Anne manages to borrow a horse, and the entire way Max clutches onto her for dear life.  
“You’re telling me you ain’t ever ridden a horse before?” Anne says, laughing.

“I have,” Max says, “but the first time I ever did one bucked me off sideways and I practically fell into the dirt. I haven’t bothered to ride one since.”

“You need to learn,” Anne says, “I’ll teach you.”

They make it to the cove by mid-morning, the time of day when the weather is warm but the heat hasn’t become stifling. Anne leads Max down to the edge of the cove, the place where the edges of the water begin to touch the rocks.

They sit beside the rocks and dip their toes inside. Max screams when her toes touch the freezing-cold water, and Anne cackles.

“This is beautiful,” Max says after a moment, leaning her head against Anne’s shoulder. She bumps against the brim of Anne’s hat, and says, “We mustn't have this.” Before Anne can protest, Max picks the hat off her head and sets it aside. Anne feels strangely bare without it for protection.

“How is the business?” Anne asks.

“The business,” Max says with a grin. “I must be a true professional now. A gentlewoman.”

“We’re all professionals in different ways,” Anne says, “you’re just a professional at bossing men around and I’m a professional at defeating them in hand-to-hand combat.”

Max laughs. “Yes, indeed, that is one way to look at it. The business is fine. Idelle is managing the girls perfectly well, there haven’t been any accidents or injuries with clients, and once we uncover that gold the world will begin to exist more smoothly.”

The gold makes Anne think of Jack. She very carefully does not think of him. She can’t bear to think of him somewhere, dead or dying.

“Are you afraid of me?” Anne asks suddenly.

Max turns to her with confused eyes. “Afraid of you?”

“You saw me kill two people without a second thought,” Anne says. She remembers the bodies on the floor, the sounds they made. “You -- I ain’t nothing more than a killer and you ought to know that if you gonna fall in love with me.”

“Anne,” Max says, reaching across and taking her hand, “you could never scare me.”

“You really believe that?” Anne says with all the disbelief she feels.

“Yes,” Max says. “Because you are gentle and kind. You just only show the world the brutalest parts of yourself, ma'cheri.”

Anne has never been gentle and kind. But maybe she can become someone worthy of Max’s love. So she nods and rubs her hands against Max’s, and they stay like that for a long time in the tide pools, simply existing together.

***

Anne loves kissing Max, and touching her, and watching her fall apart underneath Anne’s hands.

But she also loves Jack, and fucking him is routine, and she ain’t have any idea who she loves. She loves Max, and she loves Jack, so does that mean she loves men and women too?

Or is Jack just an obligation and Max is the one she loves?

Anne ain’t never considered loving a woman before. But every day -- spending time with Max, watching her laugh, watching her smile and seeing the way that Max rules over her kingdom -- she falls more in love.

Maybe she does love women. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with that, in the end. Love is what you fucking make of it. Love is the way Max smiles at her and says, “Anne, you are the bravest person I know.”

Love ain’t a binary; love is a kaleidoscope.

***

Jack comes back with gold, and they are the richest men on this island, and she hugs him so tight she cannot breathe.

Because now Anne knows she can survive without Jack. She can still be herself without him. She doesn’t get swallowed inside of his personality no more.

But she don’t want to live without him. Anne needs his humor, and the way he can pull her out of her sadness, and the way he spends hours obsessing over his fucking clothes and fucking hair (“Jack, why the hell do you need three shirts that are the same color,” she yelled at him once in a marketplace).

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I love you,” Jack answers.

They love each other, and it’s a different kind of love: a friendship that’s unbreakable.

***

“Anne,” Max says, “honestly, haven’t you bothered to spend any of your gold? At least replace some of your clothes that smell like blood has seeped through the cotton.”

“No,” Anne says, leaning over to give her a kiss on the forehead. “I ain’t worried about you and Jack spending it, though.”

“It never hurts to have nice clothes,” Max says. To prove this, she spins around, sending the skirt of her brand-new dress (purple tulle) flying. “Makes people trust you.”

“I see,” Anne says. “I was wondering if tomorrow you’d like to go down by the canyon? There’s supposed to be some kinda astrological event to watch.”

“An astrological event,” Max says with a raised eyebrow. “We have reformed you, then, hmm? No more vicious Anne Bonny? Now she goes and watches the stars. What would your enemies say?”

“I’m still the same,” Anne says, and it’s true. She’s just … different. More herself, now. “I know I ain’t good at making romantic gestures or writing poetry. But I thought it would be a good evening.”

“Aww,” Max says. “I appreciate the invitation, but I have a meeting tomorrow night.”

“About what?” Anne asks.  
“It isn’t anything to concern you,” Max says. “Besides, there’s more exciting things to do,” and she kisses Anne tightly.

Anne kisses back, and it isn’t until later that she realizes why Max was deflecting.

***

They go back to the cove, and everything falls apart. And then Anne’s left alone, her best friend, her girlfriend, gone.

It ain’t till later that she learns why. Till she learns that Max meant to betray her all along.

She ain’t a forgiving person.

***

Here’s what fucking Woodes Rogers don’t understand: Anne would burn down the world for the people she loves. She will chose Max and Jack over everyone, even if that means fighting an entire civilization.

***

Standing on a British Navy ship, hundreds of feet in the air, Anne looks out over the sea.

In the distance, she sees cannons firing, trees exploding, screams from all directions. The sounds of another ship destroyed by the rebellion.

She thinks. This is not enough to destroy a civilization, but it is sure is a start. Maybe this is who she was meant to be.

Maybe this is who she is, Anne Bonny the pirate.

Fighting is rhythm. Fighting is what keeps her alive against everything. She lets her hair blow in the wind, free for once, not shielded by a hat. (Max hated the hat, and always complained -- No. That is an open wound she will not touch.)

Here is Anne Bonny:

A survivor. A woman smart enough to steal an entire navy. A woman who will burn down the world for the people she loves. A woman who loved another woman that betrayed her. A woman who knows how to fucking fight.

She ain’t finished yet, but Anne knows who she is becoming. A woman she is proud of.

***

There are always gonna be casualties of the war, and one of them is Charles Vane. Anne doesn’t watch his hanging. She doesn't see him die. They find out later, long after the rope has snapped.

Jack is devastated, and won’t talk to her for two days. Anne knows he...neither of them loved Charles Vane, really, but he was their friend. He was their mentor and he’s the only fucking reason either of them survived.

But Charles Vane is something Anne survived, too: his torture, his fucking romantic crush on a woman who hated him, the way he used and discarded people. The way he hurt Max, on that tent on the beach, what feels like a thousand years ago.

He might have saved Jack and Anne once, but he’s also the man who let Max suffer alone. Anne ain’t gonna miss him that badly.

Charles Vane died doing what he always wanted: fighting for and protecting the pirates.

***

Jack is the one who carries her off that floor after she’s nearly bled to death. Anne remembers the look on the officer’s face, the way he cackled as he slammed their men’s faces into the ground.

These fucking sadistic murderers, who deserve to burn in hell, if Anne believed in any kind of hell--

She can’t feel anything, just the way that Jack runs across the ship, panting, the way that her entire body feels alight with pain. She wants to close her eyes. The world won’t stop spinning.

“Anne,” Jack whispers again and again and again. “Anne, hold on, please.”

She opens her eyes and says the only thing she can manage: “Fuck you, Jack.”

It really means something else.

***

Philadelphia is a freezing city, and Anne is alone. Outside, snow falls (she can’t remember the last time she saw snow; it was before the rest of her life began) and her entire body hurts. They say her hands were shredded to pieces, that her internal organs collapsed, that it’s a goddamn miracle she even survived.

The door opens, and for the first time in nearly a year, there’s Max. Standing at the door in her best gentlewoman’s outfit. Anne stares at her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I am here to help with your injuries,” Max says. She comes to the side of the bed and begins to bandage Anne’s hands. Anne winces when she peels off the gauze and winces again when Max reapplies bandages.

“Why are you here,” Anne says.

“Because I can’t watch you die,” Max says, her voice sounding sharper. “Let me help you.”

Anne watches her, and doesn’t say anything. Max is still so fucking beautiful, and she has a soft smile as she adjusts bandages. God, she missed her. God, she doesn’t know how to tell her that.

Max starts coming in every day, and every day Anne lets her readjust her bandages and thinks to herself, I want to kiss you, if only you would forgive me.

***

“Come outside,” Max says.

Anne shivers in the corner, wrapped underneath seven layers of blankets. She manages to cautiously step outside. She ain’t been outside in weeks, maybe months -- it’s hard to tell the passing of time when you’re alone.

“Here,” Max says. They sit beside the edge of the house, watching the street pass by.

“Why did you come back?” Anne says. “And this time, tell me the truth.”

“Because I missed you,” Max says. “Because betraying you was the worst thing I have ever done.”

Anne thinks, I ain’t a forgiving person. But maybe there are exceptions to the rule.

“How do I know you won’t do it again?” she asks. Max shivers and wraps her hands inside the plaid blanket draped over her knees.

“Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” she says. “I can’t imagine living without you again. It was the emptiest days of my life.”

Anne turns and looks at her. She notices that there are icicles growing against the church next door, forming slowly. There is snow on Max’s eyelashes. Anne leans forward and takes Max’s hand.

“You’re the smartest person I know,” she says. “I ain’t want you to give up your future for me.”

“It never would have been the future I wanted,” Max says. “The future I wanted was with you.”

They hold hands for a moment, fingers freezing, but Anne has never felt warmer than in this moment. She leans over and places her head against Max’s blanket. Max kisses the top of her head.

“I fucking missed you,” Anne says. Then she says the words: “I love you.”

Max grins, and her face looks like a beam of starlight. She says, “I love you, too,” and leans in to kiss her. It’s a kiss of forgiveness, of renewal, of rediscovery and Anne never wants it to end.

Anne and Max stay like that, kissing while snow falls around them, blanketing the world into a dreamscape.

***

It’s a beautiful morning on the seas. Anne stays in her position and watches as the boat moves further and further offshore.

She said her goodbyes to Max this morning, promised to return. Both of them know that’s an unbreakable promise. Anne ain’t letting her go, ever again, and she already cannot wait for the day they return and she can curl up with Max and kiss her senseless.

But they know their roles. Max is the queen of their kingdom; Anne’s the protector of Nassau.

They have responsibilities. But they’ll always return to each other.

Anne watches as Jack runs around the ship, barking orders, and smiles: because he has always wanted his own ship. Because he’s her best friend. She sees the new member of their crew -- Mary Read, who reminds Anne of a younger version of herself from the hat to the fake name -- and knows that this journey will truly be an adventure.

Her journey ain’t over, just yet.

There’s still a hell of a lot more to explore.


End file.
